Dare to Love My Grumpy Boss by Ellie Hall

1

Cora

You know that whooshy, swooping feeling in your stomach when you do something terrible?

Not stepping on a snail terrible and not overcooking a batch of cookies terrible.

More on the scale of accidentally posting a selfie terrible.

Yeah, that happened.

It wasn’t a selfie of me lounging on the beach looking perfectly trim and tan, gazing wistfully into the middle distance like I don’t have a care in the world.

More like posting the least flattering kind of selfie that exists.

You know the one...

The phone camera came on while it was in my hand and snapped a picture of me from the underside. I imagine it’s what a kid sees if they look up.

Yikes.

I look like I have twelve chins, the skin of an ostrich, and hair that got pressed between a waffle iron—total finger-in-light socket cartoon hair.

The obvious solution would be to delete it, right?

Wrong. It posted to a special app called Forever Ink that the High School Reunion Committee is using to plan for the event next year. You can’t delete anything from it ever.

On the upside, there’s a record of all posts, comments, and dates scheduled so no one can claim to have missed a vital task or meeting. The downside, there’s a record of all photos, including yours truly.

The worst part is I helped develop the app. That being the case, you’d think I could undevelop it. Sign into the backend and highlight, delete.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I created code specifically so that couldn’t happen. Ever.

Have I mentioned it’s permanent? Like a tattoo. Hence the name Forever Ink.

At least only people invited to the Woodrow High School Class of ’12 Reunion Group can see text and images…including Alex Wilder. Can’t a girl get a break?

My phone beeps with a text. It’s from the regular group text with my four besties: Paisley, Blakely, Mila, and Daisy—long ago, Paisley’s mom dubbed us the Fab Five. Likely, the pic is already going down in infamy along with my last shreds of dignity.

Blakely: At least it isn’t on the internet.

Paisley sends the monkey emoji with its hands covering its eyes.

Mila: Cora, it looks like you need some coffee...and foundation, mascara, a hair brush...STAT.

She’s the snarky one and rarely wears anything that could remotely be described as “Extra.”

Me: Ha ha. There is nothing funny about this. You know that Miranda is going to screenshot it and post it on Facebook.

Daisy: She wouldn’t.

The other three blast back: She would!!!

Blakely: Speaking of Miranda, I still don’t understand why she invited us to be in her bridal party.

Me: To humiliate us because that’s what she’s always done. Just wait, the dresses are going to be bright orange, with five layers of ruffles, bedazzled with rhinestones, and she’ll make us wear feathers in our hair.

I immediately regret pressing send because that’s kind of what I looked like in the selfie minus the bling. The tragedy is it would be fitting.

Blakely: Just wait. When one of us gets married, I’ll design the dresses and we will all look divine.

Paisley posts the lady raising her hand emoji.

Mila: Oh, right. Paisley how could you let us forget you’re engaged to Jason Cobb, voted number one sexiest man alive for three years running, and up for one of those shiny film awards? Big whoop. I mean woot. Woot.

You have to understand, underneath Mila’s dry and sarcastic delivery, I believe she’s actually happy for Paisley. I am. We all are. She’s the first to break away from our single ladies club.

Paisley replies using the yellow emoji head with the tongue sticking out.

We’re used to Mila’s cynicism.

Even though they’ve moved on from my selfie crisis, I have not and post in the Woodrow High School Class of ’12 Forever Ink chat.

Oops. I blame Monday, amiright?

No replies, but twenty-seven people have already viewed the pic. That includes my four friends but still. Will Alex Wilder, my freshman through senior year crush, see it? I’m supposed to walk into the reunion and blow the doors down all diva-like.

Oh, my life!

Then another, worse thought cracks into my mind.

He’ll be at Miranda’s wedding.

They all will be.

Okay, not the entire graduating class, but a lot of them because Miranda is having the wedding at the Knotty Pines resort in our hometown of Lake Winnipesauke in northern New Hampshire.

It’ll be the pre-show to the reunion next year, exactly three-hundred forty days away. (The Forever Ink app has a countdown feature.) That means I have to:

-Up my fitness game. I want to be toned and lose these twelve chins. Okay, I don’t actually have twelve chins. I peer into my bathroom mirror.

Do I have twelve chins though? Five...three...ten. I lean against the wall and then zoom in on my skin. Ostrich skin? Is that a wrinkle by my lip? I swallow thickly. This is not good. To my list I add:

-Find a new skincare regime with a full line of products. Maybe see a dermatologist.

I try to smooth my hair. It’s early on Monday morning, I haven’t gotten ready for work yet and have a bit of bed head. Sadly, I’ve never been the girl that wakes up fresh-faced with smooth locks.

-Ask Blakely what salon she goes to. Never mind, she lives in New York City and probably has someone that comes to her. If you haven’t gathered, she’s a top clothing designer and as glam as they come.

Suddenly wobbly with uncertainty, I sit down on the toilet. Don’t worry, the lid is closed. I rest my head in my hands. The wedding and the reunion both highlight the fact that I am not glam or fancy or girlie. I’d like to be, but my job involves a computer screen and when I’m not working, I’m cooking. Who has time to primp and preen when they work sixty hours a week? Who cares when all I do is sit (and stand) all day? (One of my coworkers suffered from RSI and threatened to sue AmTech, so my boss got everyone ergonomic standing desks.)

The point is, the guys at my office do not care what I look like...and I don’t care what I look like because I wouldn’t date any of them anyway.

Why? Well, they’re all nerdy and pasty, and that is not my type.

Also, I don’t have time to date. I hardly have time to do laundry, pay bills, or do anything adultish whatsoever.

My job is demanding and what little free time I do have, I spend cooking or baking because eating is a necessity and I can’t live on snack packs from the break room alone. Occasionally, I need a real meal. Plus, I love being in the kitchen.

As for dating? Unless we’re talking about virtual reality, I’m off the market. I don’t have time for relationships, drama, or love. I’m focused on my career.

Girl gots bills to pay!

I open a cabinet to grab a breakfast bar only to find the box empty and stare at the wedding invitation on the fridge. The news of Miranda’s nuptials came on short notice. No save the date. Paisley says yes to everything and already replied before we had a chance to talk her out of it...so now, we all have to go.

You can imagine Mila’s reaction.

My phone jingles with an alert from the Forever Ink group. It’s Miranda. Of course, everyone can see it, adding to my mortification.

Cora, if the dress has to be let out, you need to get on that right away. The wedding is next weekend. We don’t have time to order a new one.

I can think of an emoji I’d like to send back, and it’s a lot pointier than the one Paisley sent to Mila. The latter replies in our text group.

Mila: Miranda is so fake. I wish we didn’t agree to this.

Blakely: Doesn’t she realize she didn’t invite the entire class of ’12 to the wedding? Shouldn’t she keep wedding talk out of the reunion chat and message privately?

Daisy: OR INSULT CORA ABOUT HER DRESS SIZE.

Girl’s got my back.

Me: For the record, I do not have twelve chins, the skin of an ostrich...

Mila replies before I have a chance to finish.

Mila: Anyone with half a brain knows you took that picture by accident and from the least forgiving angle. Miranda is a troll, so she’s lacking in gray matter. If she dares insult Cora or any of you at the wedding, I’ll give her what’s coming...what I should’ve ten years ago on prom night.

Oh, here we go. Mila is feisty...and unforgiving.

Blakely: High rode, Mils. HIGH ROAD.

Me: I have to get ready for work and pretend this morning started on a sunnier and less humiliating note. See you girls at Lake Winnie on Friday. Love!!!

I am super connected to my phone. It’s like a phantom limb, but I turn it off for now because my ego can only take so much demolition.

* * *

I pull into the muddy parking lot behind Knotty Pines Resort, momentarily forgetting that I no longer work here as I did in high school and don’t have to park in the employee section. A truck pulls in, blocking me from backing up and a Subaru sits crooked in an unmarked space as if the person was late to work and threw the thing into park then dashed inside.

That was me, once upon a time.

With a glance at the time, that will be me again if I don’t hurry and meet the rest of the bridal party, aka my best friends.

The white exterior must’ve been recently painted. The windows are as spotless as ever, and the sprawling building with its classic New England architecture sits proudly at the head of the lake.

Inside, the familiar and subtle scent of the cedar posts and beams along with pine-scented cleaning products greets my nose. A wave of nostalgia for home sweeps through me.

“There she is,” a shrill voice singsongs. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Cora. What kind of weight loss program did you use to drop forty pounds in four days?” Miranda knew the selfie was from a bad angle, so why does she continue to torment me?

I fight the simmering inside. “Hi, Miranda. Congratulations. You must be so excited.” I force enthusiasm into my voice.

She presses her hand to her chest. “I know, right? I can’t believe the big day is tomorrow. I’ve been waiting for this my whole life. It’ll happen for you someday too, I’m sure.”

Yes, she really said that.

A chorus of chatter comes from the main entryway as Blakely, Mila, and Paisley parade in our direction, thank goodness.

“There are my girls,” Miranda says, opening her arms wide for hugs.

That’s my line. Those are my girls. Miranda is the frenemy.

Blakely air kisses her on both cheeks. Mila shrinks back. Paisley does an awkward side hug and rolls her eyes in my direction.

“Where’s Daisy?” I ask.

“She’s on her way.” Mila winks at me.

Right, she probably has to get childcare.

“I cannot wait for you all to meet Reed,” Miranda goes on. “We met using my Scroll Click Date app.”

I give her a death glare. Remember how I created Forever Ink? That was built on the Forever Match Map...the app that I was developing. The plans which she stole.

Am I bitter? You betcha.

“We cannot wait to hear all about him,” Blakely says, likely wondering, along with the rest of us, about how this woman found a man who tolerates her when the rest of us are single. Except Paisley. I’m still getting used to the fact that she’s engaged.

“Speaking of hotties, where is Jason? I was so looking forward to meeting him.” Miranda’s take on a swimmy, greedy look.

And there it is... How did I not think of it sooner? Oh, right, because I’m not a conniving, backstabbing...

Miranda only invited us because it’s public knowledge that Paisley is engaged to the one, the only, Jason Cobbbbbb! Actor, cover model, endorsed by cologne and expensive watch brands, has been in a dozen feature films, and has his own airplane.

“Oh, he’s on set right now.” Paisley wrinkles her nose. “Plus, I don’t think he’d want to bother coming all the way up here to the middle of nowhere—”

Mila leans in, waiting like the rest of us for Paisley to add something like, And to a wedding for someone he doesn’t know. To which I would also add, To a nobody.

No, actually I wouldn’t say that because unlike Mila, I am forgiving. I no longer harbor resentment or anger toward Miranda. Much. Everything that happened is in the past—in addition to her robbing my big plans for Forever Match, she did something much worse. But it’s no big deal. We were in high school. High school drama happens.

Let. It. Go.

Before Mila decides to throw hands in defense of the member of our fivesome that isn’t here, I clap my hands together. “Miranda, give us the itinerary for tonight and tomorrow.”

Miranda sulks, likely at the the news that Jason isn’t on the guest list after all. “There’s the rehearsal dinner tonight. I told you each to bring a plus one.” Then she frowns. “In fact, now that I think of it, none of you replied that you were bringing a date.”

Miranda asks, “What about Daisy?”

Blakely smiles thinly. “Still single.”

Miranda sure knows how to rub salt in a wound.

I give Mila a sharp look, commanding her not to say, With no thanks to you. We don’t need to incite Miranda on her wedding day—I love this resort too much to see it go up in flames.

“That’s too bad. I imagine you’ll all find true love, eventually.” She flutters her eyelashes as a pale man, wearing a pink button-down shirt and slacks, approaches. “There he is now. My happily ever after. Reed, come here. I want you to meet my bridesmaids and best friends.”

Without making eye contact, he says, “Hi, ladies.”

Miranda elbows him sharply.

His gaze skirts over us and he twitches slightly. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you all and feel like I know you already. In fact, you must be Cora Albright. Miranda showed me a selfie of you just the other day.”

If this guy didn’t look like a fish that washed up on the shore of the lake with about the same level of social skills, I’d turn red with embarrassment.

“Yep. That’s me. Forever Inked in infamy thanks to that selfie.” I let out a breath. “And I am so happy the two of you found each other. I can already see you’re the perfect match. A Forever Match.”

Mila covers a laugh with a cough.

“Yes, we’re so happy for you both. Congratulations again.” Blakely’s tone is genial unlike mine which overflowed with sarcasm. I should take notes.

Just then the main door whooshes open. Mila, Paisley, Blakely, and I turn away from Miranda and Reed, who now stand at our backs.

Daisy rushes in, catching her breath. “Did I miss anything other than you four?” She dives toward us for a hug, not noticing the bride and groom-to-be holding court behind us.

Seeing her smiling face is enough to make me forget about Mean Miranda and her new minion.

Plus, Daisy’s unintended comment about missing us four, not including Miranda, was a welcome burn.

Boom. Bam. Take that, frenemy.